Part of me wanted to tell her right then and there what Zenobia and I were up to and what I had planned for my abuser. We could easily add Marlon to the list of men who needed to be taught a lesson. But I didn’t want to push or put our plan in jeopardy. Yvette is emotional and now might not be the right time for her to think about getting back at her husband. But that may not be the case in a few days when he tries to make amends and swears it will never happen again.
Right now I would just be a listening ear. I’ll wait a little while longer to see how this plays out before I offer a solution to her problem.
Once Yvette had composed herself enough to return to the table, we sat down and talked. Neither one of us was very hungry, but once we had our first drink we both started to feel better. She talked a lot about how she and Marlon originally got together and how much she loved him almost from the very beginning of the relationship. She also talked about how much things had changed and how disappointed she was with the demise of her marriage. I listened to all of it without interruption. Yvette needed to vent and I let her. I was also listening to see just where her head was. I wasn’t confident by the end of our conversation that she truly had enough of Marlon, but time would soon tell.
I was mindful of how much I drank because I knew I needed to drive. I don’t think Yvette realized her tolerance for alcohol. When she stood up from the table, she actually swayed on her feet. She only had two drinks, but I guess that was more than her limit. Yvette was definitely in no position to drive. I told her I would take her home and she could worry about getting her car the next day. She agreed that driving wasn’t a good idea.
As we drove to her house in Forest Park on the outskirts of Atlanta’s city limits, Yvette started to speak a bit more specifically about her feelings. They say that alcohol is like a truth serum. If that is indeed true, then I got a much clearer picture of what Yvette had been really going through. The closer we got to her home the more somber her disposition. She talked about the level of hurt Marlon had inflicted that dated much further back than when he got laid off work. Apparently, he didn’t just start talking down to her. Yvette said there were times when it happened in the past, but it was so infrequent she never thought of it as an issue. She admitted she shouldn’t have been surprised that verbal assaults were Marlon’s weapon of choice. He always had a way with words and he knew how to use them. That is what was so attractive to her in the beginning – his ability to speak so cleverly and candidly. Yvette insisted that never in a million years would she have thought that he would have used the very trait she admired so much to hurt her. It was a pattern and she was coming to grips with it. I asked her if he ever hit her and she said no. I believed her. At this point there was no real reason to lie. She said that Marlon was more of a passive aggressive personality type. Instead of hitting her outright, he would strike out in non-physical ways. She had to laugh when she repeated non- physical a second time. It had been non-physical until he got physical with this other woman.
Marlon was not physically abusive but his words had cut Yvette deep, and she was finally starting to put the pieces together. That realization can be hard especially when there are no physical bruises you have to come face to face with. The bruises from a verbal tongue-lashing only appear internally.
We turned into Yvette’s subdivision and the daze she seemed to have been in was suddenly replaced by a woman trying to pull herself together. She lowered the mirrored visor and opened her purse. She fixed her makeup and attempted to remove all signs of having tear-stained cheeks. She reached in her purse and pulled out a breath mint; repeatedly checking to make sure she didn’t smell of alcohol. The finishing touch was a little splash of perfume on her wrists and behind her ears. I thought to myself, I hope she’s doing all this for her children. But it was late, and I knew better. She was doing all of it for her husband.
Although still a bit tipsy, Yvette straightened up as much as she could. Once we pulled into the semi-circular driveway in front of her beautiful, two-story brick home, she leaned over, kissed me lightly on the cheek and thanked me for taking such good care of her and for being such a good friend. Away she went; almost bounding across the drive to her front door. The porch light was on and there were lights on from inside the home as well. Before Yvette could stick the key in her door, it opened and her husband was there to meet her. Just as quickly as he appeared behind the partially opened door the two of them disappeared.
I waited for a few seconds to see if I could hear anything over the purr of Berta’s engine, but I couldn’t. All I could do was hope that everything was going to be okay and that Marlon wouldn’t act a nut. Maybe I should be praying that Yvette doesn’t lose her cool…